Merry Christmas, Pards!

Well, the big day is just about here, followed by an even bigger one (maybe?!) so let's just get right to the heart of things. After all, we're all pretty busy at this time of year.

CHRISTMAS STORY

Eyebrows thick with ice, Sheriff Clay Spencer hunkered down in the snow. He covered his nose with the crook of his arm to feel some warmth on his face and he squinted through the falling snow. He hadn't heard a sound since Joe Murphy ran into the small cave back in the trees. He thought he had hit the man with his first shot, but there was no sign of blood on the snow. Spencer had been chasing the man for two days after Murphy three other men tried to rob the bank in Merced, Nevada. Seeing as how Murphy had killed Myron Kemp, the bank manager, Murphy was going to hang.

Tomorrow was Christmas and Spencer had promised to bring home a tree so his two children could trim it with the decorations they had been making for the past several weeks. His daughter, Mary was eight, and his son, Michael had turned seven the week before. They had been diligently stringing fresh cranberries to place all around the tree they expected him to bring home. He felt a nagging guilt about that. He didn't have time to look for a tree. They might not have a tree this year and he hated to see the disappointment on their faces.

"You see anything of him?" a voice asked behind him.

"He's in that cave," Spencer said. "I think I hit him with that one shot."

Clay wiped the ice away from his mouth and began to move closer to the entrance of the cave, his two deputies right behind him. He hadn't seen any blood, but that didn't mean he hadn't hit him. The way Murphy had staggered after he fired was an indication he might be wounded.

The other three men who tried holding up the Merced bank were sitting out the snowstorm in a nice warm jail cell. Spencer and his men wouldn't be out in the freezing cold if it wasn't for Murphy making a run for it. The young new deputy had let Murphy take his horse.

Thinking he had seen something move, Spencer moved behind a tree and aimed his rifle around the trunk. It was too difficult to see in the blowing snow, but he was certain it wasn't Murphy. His eyes had been on the black cave entrance and he was positive Murphy didn't come out. Spencer hoped it wasn't some hungry cougar snooping around.

Next to him, his deputy, Mort Higgins shivered. "Damn, I wish he'd make a move," Higgins said, his breath fogged in front of his face.

"If he's hit he might be down," the other deputy said.

"Yeah, if he's hit," Spencer said. He leaned against the tree and squinted at the dark entrance. Tree branches covered most of the cave and the section Murphy had run into was pitch black.

Spencer's mind drifted to warm thoughts of Christmas, the sharp smell of pine, the crackling of a warm cabin fire and the aroma of wonderful things cooking. He almost smiled thinking of the Christmas items the children always made each year. They were just as much a part of the celebration. He wished he could be home helping trim a tree right now. He wasn't even sure he'd get home for Christmas.

Everyone in town had been waiting for the snow, anticipating the added joy a white Christmas would bring. That afternoon — Christmas Eve, 1873 — the snow began, but no one knew it was the beginning of a long, hard storm.

The townsfolk should be out here chasing Joe Murphy snowy Christmas Eve, Spencer thought, somewhat bitterly. He pictured in his mind the small diorama and carved wood figures he had made of the infant Jesus, Mary and Joseph. This year he had hoped to add a shepherd boy and a wise man, but he had been too busy to do any carving. His carvings were not very artful, but they gave his children a way to remember what Christmas was really about.

Bringing his mind back to the job at hand, Spencer dashed to the entrance of the cave and leaned against the opening. He raised his rifle and listened. There was no sound. He brought a match out of his pocket and struck the tip. The fire hissed around the small stick and Spencer tossed it into the opening of the cave. It went out as soon as he threw it.

"Here," Higgins said, jabbing Spencer in the arm. "Here's a hunk of dry paper. Fire it up and give it a toss."

Spencer did so. There was no reaction to the sudden flame. Spencer moved into the cave and struck another match. The flame flickered over the body of a man lying face down. Higgins came forward to grab the man's legs and pulled him out. Joe Murphy was dead, a bullet between the shoulders.

"Ride with me, Rick," Higgins said to the other deputy. "We'll tie Joe on your horse and we can get the hell out of this snow."

Rick Sorenson helped place Murphy on the back of the horse and they tied the dead man to the horse. Then Higgins mounted behind Sorenson.

"Wait a minute," Spencer said. He had been watching his two deputies, his mind distracted. "I've got me something to do." He began hacking at a young, three-foot-tall pine with his Bowie knife.

The two deputies dismounted to help cut the sapling. When it was down, they tied a rope to the trunk and Spencer tied the opposite end to his saddle horn.

"It's a mite small," Clay said. "but it's better than nothing."

"Maybe it'll have growed some by the time we get back," Higgins laughed.

"Say Mort," Spencer said. "What was that paper you handed me to put on fire?"

"That? Oh it was a letter from my wife tellin' me she was runnin' away with that actor fellow come to town recently."

"You mean she took off with that crazy man?" Sorenson asked, surprised.

"I'll be celebrating her leaving," Higgins said with a wide grin.

"Well, Merry Christmas, Mort," Sorenson and Spencer said simultaneously.

The three men laughed, shivered against the cold and began taking their two burdens — one happy, one grisly — toward town.

NEWS OF MEMBERS

After researching and working on my first novel for nearly ten years, it was finally published in CD form, and I can't believe it's been nominated as one of the best CD books of 1999. The voting is heavy and I'd appreciate your vote for Jean Henry's Escape on the Wind, published by Books on Screen, after you read the first chapter on my publisher's Web site: Fiction Titles - Bookshoppe.

I don't expect anyone to vote for something they haven't read. There are two categories and you can only vote once for each: Best book and best author. I'm afraid I'm going to wake up and find out this is just a dream.

Here's where you can vote: Preditors & Editors Poll (AOL) or http://www.critters.org/predpoll/

Many thanks and much love,
Jean

TEN AND ME is scheduled for release December 23, from Avalon, $18.95.

It's about an even-tempered drifter named Jack Mackinnon and a consumptive dentist, Charles Dennis Tenedore "Ten" Keough, who are accidentally catapulted to national fame in a series of "penny dreadfuls."

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY says of TEN AND ME: "Informed by accurate detail in almost every regard . . . Boggs's narrative voice captures the old-fashioned style of the past . . ."

BOOKLIST says: "This is an entertaining western in the classic mold."

Other new Books OUT:

GENEVIEVE of TOMBSTONE
by John Dunckley is at your local book dealer.
Paperback, published by Leisure.

Tombstone in the 1800 was a tough town. Genevieve had to be tougher. A cleverly written book about a woman's struggles in times of hardship.

It was also chosen as the Leisure books special for their Book of the Month Club.

WILDGUN
by Jack Hanson (a/k/a Jack Legg). A Will Barlow series.
Paperback, published by Jove.

He's a young trapper with adventurous ideas, who goes into the Oregon territory to escape a woman who wants to snare him into marriage. When Will decides to settle down, he finds a difficult road before him.

THE SEARCH, No. 2 in the series, will be out sometime in January.

COST OF BOOKS

If you have heard some complaints about book prices going up, take a look at the price Amazon.com is (was?) asking for our own Jean Henry's CD book, ESCAPE ON THE WIND.

There's no doubt this would attract attention real quick -- but it makes one wonder if there will be a sale, or a shiver. Let's hope Jean's readers are amused buyers and can laugh this off.

ESCAPE ON THE WIND (Wyoming historical novel [trilogy])
by Jean Henry
Our Price: $2,995.95
Availability: This title usually ships within 4-6 weeks. Please note
that titles occasionally go out of print or publishers run out of stock.
We will notify you within 2-3 weeks if we have trouble obtaining this
title.
CD-ROM - (November 27, 1999)

Ah, c'mon, folks, go out and buy it. Jean can use the money!

However, if you want an enormous discount, ask Jean the REAL price!

INTERESTING TIDBIT

In spite of all of our phenomenal advances . . .

The U.S. Standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number. Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England, and the U.S. railroads were designed by English expatriates. Why did the English people build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used. Why did "they" use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.

Okay! Why did the wagons use that odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried
to use any other spacing the wagons would break on some of the old, long-distance roads, because that's the spacing of the old wheel ruts. So, who built these old rutted roads? The very first long-distance roads in Europe were built by Imperial Rome for the benefit of its legions. The roads have been used ever since.

And the ruts? The initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagons, were first made by Roman war chariots.

Since the chariots were made for, or by, Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing. Thus, we have the answer to the original question. The U.S. standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches derives from the original specification for an Imperial Roman army war chariot.

Specs and bureaucracies live forever. So, the next time you are handed a specification and wonder what horse's back end came up with it, you may
be exactly right — because the Imperial Roman chariots were made to be
just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horses.

Now the twist to the story: When we see a Space Shuttle sitting on the launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are the solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol, at a factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs might have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line to the factory runs through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than a railroad track, and the railroad track is about as wide as two horses' behinds.

So, a major design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined by the width of a horse's butt.

MARKET NEWS

It's with deep regret we say good-bye to WESTERN DIGEST. The final edition was published as a November/December 1999 issue with the following editorial from our good friend and Western Writer Chat Group on AOL member, Douglas Sharp:

This issue of WESTERN DIGEST completes five years of publishing. I have come to the conclusion that it is time to cease publishing my magazine. It has been a costly venture, trying to keep the Western short fiction market alive. In my five years of publishing, I have had 220 subscribers, but that has dwindled down to about 130. It has been extremely difficult to locate subscribers, and it has been equally difficult to get my subscribers to renew.

Two years ago, I started the WESTERN DIGEST Web page, and this past spring I added STORIES, with the intentions of adding two stories to my site every month. I attracted about 175 hits per month. I considered keeping the Web site going, but figured the volume of work would be the same, even though the cost would be considerably less. I shall close the Web site on December 31, 1999.

As for me, now I'll have time to finish my novel, and perhaps I'll be able to find an agent willing to market it. I have decided to go out with a bang, so to speak. The stories that would have been published in January will be featured as well.

Douglas Sharp's story continues but with our limited space we cannot place all of it here.

We do wish Doug much success with his novel and want him to know we shall sorely miss him and WESTERN DIGEST. It was the last of the good ones. The last contribution to our Western short stories. Where can the short stories go now?

Adios, Compadre, via con Dios, may the good lines typed rise and come back over the horizon to renew another attempt at publishing again for all of us one day.

Yes, remember to keep your philosophy —
IT'S A GOOD DAY TO LIVE !!!

POETRY

WRITING

No wonder the English language is so difficult to learn!!

We must polish the Polish furniture.
He could lead if he would get the lead out.
The farm was used to produce produce.
The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
The soldier decided to desert in the desert.
This was a good time to present the present.
(And this last could mean "gift" or "era of time")
A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object.
The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
The bandage was wound around the wound.
There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
They were too close to the door to close it.
The buck does funny things when the does are present.
They sent a sewer down to stitch the tear in the sewer line.
To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
After a number of injections my jaw got number.
Upon seeing the tear in my clothes I shed a tear.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

INTERVIEW

Western Writers: When did you begin writing?

Ralph Cotton: I like to say I became a novelist at age five, but it took me the
next forty-five years to get something published. I remember the frustration of trying to create and write down stories when I was in the second and third grade, before I even had a good grasp on reading and writing. Except for my mother, who had named me after Ralph Waldo Emerson, writing was not something that was greatly encouraged in my upbringing. Yet, I found myself always jotting stuff down — things I saw happen, expressions on people's faces, their habits and peculiarities. I always enjoyed trying to describe things as near as I could to how I saw them. I suppose year by year my writing went through a learning and growth process that I was unaware of, until sometime in the early 'sixties when it became apparent that I had developed a knack for creating characters and scenes and fashioning them into a working story.
Since I had no formal education beyond the seventh grade at that time, I
learned to write to an instinctive rhythm in my mind, which I still do today.

WW: Why did you choose the Western genre?

RC: Westerns were the most natural thing for me to write I suppose. I came from a family of Kentucky Irish-Cherokee horse traders on my mother's side. I grew up breaking and training and racing horses, left Kentucky in my early teens, kicked loose and headed west, worked in stockyards and on farms and ranches, just to get by. Being a good hand with horses, it was never a problem finding work even as a kid. I met and worked with a wide range of colorful people, some of them on the dodge from the law, many of them just restless and searching for something, some trying to get by and live down their reckless pasts. I realized that these people weren't much different than the early pioneers. Americans from all levels of society have always been headed west for various reasons. I write about the ones I knew best, the down-and-outers, the outlaws, the misfits, the poor folks, the runaways.

WW: Who is your favorite author and do you believe he/she inspired you to
write?

RC: I don't have A favorite author, but rather several. To mention a few: Cormac McCarthy, Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Herman Melville, Henry James, Richard Prather, Ed McBain, Will Henry, Terry Johnston, Pearl Buck, Jack Kerouac, Kurt Vonnegut, Jack London, Mark Twain. All of these writers have inspired and influenced my work in some way. Growing up I read and studied a broad range of writers and their styles. Since I have little formal training, I like to think that Melville, London, and Dickens taught me to write.

WW: What do you do besides writing?

RC: Lately it seems I do very little besides writing. Ordinarily at this time of year my wife and I are fishing off the southern shores or visiting friends and family out West. But this past year we've stayed home, renovating our house and upgrading our horse facilities. Although I no longer hunt, I enjoy the outdoors this time of year. I spend lots of time in the fields and woods with my two Catahoula Leopard dogs who love to track. Catahoulas are stock dogs and big game hunters, so they have to get out and act tough. I take them out almost every day and let them run. I collect a few firearms, some of them guns from the Old West. It might seem picky but I like knowing firsthand the feel of handling the kind of guns I write about, the balance, the mechanisms, even the distinct sound. I also spend time with my grandchildren, encouraging them to write and to enjoy reading.

WW: Among your many books, do you have one that is your favorite?

RC: Of my published books, my favorite is While Angels Dance, probably
because it was my first novel I saw in print. Close friends called the book
an autobiography. Of course they meant it in a symbolic sense. Obviously,
I was never a gunman who rode with the James Gang! Yet, there is the story within the story of how a young man can make a mistake and have it throw his life into a downward spiral if something doesn't come along to redirect him. But I like to think that each of my novels takes on some underlying story to that affect. I'd hate to think I wrote any of them just to hear myself rattle about mindless crap. To me, a good story has several other stories inside it, each one interacting within the other to create a sense of realism. For example: in Price of a Horse, aside from the upfront story of a man trying to find his stolen horse, there is an aside story of a terribly co-dependent woman named Margaret Alahambre who escapes an abusive husband only to cast herself into another abusive relationship with Doc Holliday. In real life I knew this woman, and I think most readers will recognize someone they know in her. The book Justice is based on some very real characters I knew in the past. It's the story of a bunch of confused young men who fall under the leadership of a psychopath who is out to prove he is just as tough as his father. Anyone who's spent much time in taverns has met dozens of guys like these characters, my book profiles them, shows how they interact on one another and the harm they do to themselves and those around them. All of my books are made up of these kind of people. I like throwing a handful of them together in the same storyline and watch them work.

WW: Do you have a favorite book by a different author?

RC: For now it's Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy. I consider it a one-of-a-kind "original" piece of work.

WW: What is your favorite pastime?

RC: Aside from writing, religion and philosophy, I most enjoy things I do with my hands. For years I worked as a tradesman, an ironworker and a seaman. I still love being on water in weather either fair or foul; and I still like working with iron, wood, stone, anything that has potential for expression and creativity and requires effort and sweat.

WW: Do you have a new book coming?

RC: I have six Westerns awaiting release over the next year and a half with Signet. My next one is Misery Express, coming out after the first of the year. I'm working on some religious fiction I started writing years ago when I worked for the Lutheran Church. Some of it takes place in the Old West, some doesn't. Folks who have only read my shoot-'em-up Westerns might find it hard to believe, but I am a very religious person. Years ago I made a promise to Jesus that if he'd make me into a better person, I'd tell other people about him any way I could any chance I got. He kept his end of the deal, so I always want to keep mine.

WW: Do you have any suggestions for new writers to follow in getting published?

RC: Knowing how hard and disheartening this writing business can be,
the best advice I can give a new writer is to just have faith in yourself no matter what, and don't let anything stop you. These are tough times for new writers, but times always change. The person who will eventually succeed is the person who won't be swayed. Keep writing and keep learning more about yourself through your writing. Look at every day you go unpublished as another chance to practice your art. Then when you do hit, you'll know your work is ready, you'll have your style, your voice, most importantly your confidence. You'll have no problem coming up with additional stories. Don't spend your time trying to figure out the next "big" thing New York is going to want, and don't let ANYONE tell you what or how to write. What the reading public wants now is what it has always wanted, simply a good story with strong characters that readers can identify with in some way.

WW: I notice in some of your photos (in your books) that you have a horse.
Could you tell us a little something about your horse?

RC: The horse on my book cover is not mine. (I wish he were.) He is a champion Appaloosa racing stallion named Town Native. I had the pleasure of working with him one summer. We got to be good buddies he and I. Right now I don't have any horses on the place, but usually I keep a couple of quarterhorses or Appaloosas. Some old back injuries prevent me from riding as much I'd like to, but I still enjoy just having horses around. I get a little nuts when I go too long without dogs and horses to relate to.

WW: Thank you to Ralph Cotton for taking the time to answer these questions. We all appreciate it and feel we know you a lot more. Be sure to read some of his exciting books:

WHILE ANGELS DANCE, TRICK OF THE TRADE
POWDER RIVER , MONTANA RED
PRICE OF A HORSE, BADLANDS
COST OF A KILLING , JUSTICE
KILLER OF A MAN, BORDER DOGS

ARTICLE

That candles were used during ancient times was proved with the discovery of molded wax and string in Egypt, Crete and the Roman Empire.

During the Middle Ages, the common illumination for the poor was the rushlight. A reed was stripped to the core and soaked in oil. This was found to be an acceptable source of light. Wax was a costly item and used only by the very wealthy.

Making a candle was a tedious and long process, requiring considerable patience. Strings or yarn were cut to length, dipped into hot tallow from beef or mutton suet, then set aside to cool and dry. Dipping and drying were alternated until the candle was as thick as desired. Another method was to pour hot beeswax over a suspended string or yarn, cooled and repeated over until reaching the desire thickness. The maker would roll the candle over a hard surface smooth it.

In Paris during the 13th century, members of a tallow candler guild would go from house to house to make candles. If a householder had not made his own candles he would hire the candler to do them in his kitchen. Soon the marketplaces sold candles, saving the householder a time consuming effort.

Since beeswax was a different method from the tallow there were two candler companies that offered their services. Beeswax had to be separated from the bee's hive and its characteristics were not as pliable as the animal fats. Still, the beeswax had its supporters and market value.

The candle mold made it's entrance in the 15th century when sieur de Brez of Paris came up with a cylinder that could be used with tallow. It was found that beeswax was too difficult to place in a mold.

Chemistry took on an important role in candlemaking during the 19th century. M.E. Chevreul discovered that fats were composed of fatty acids and glycerin. He separated the two by saturating the fat with alkali and treating the soap product with sulfuric acid. The liquid known as oleic acid was expressed by pressure, leaving a solid combined palmitic and stearic acids for a superior stearin candle. The methods improved through the years to produce a superior quality even having perfumes remain within the candle substance to emit a pleasant aroma.

Candles not only brought light to the darkness, but they became religious symbols of piety, self sacrifice and respect in funerals, a show of happiness in celebrating a birth or gaiety in the gathering of friends.

At Christmastime, many pioneer folks used small candles to decorate around the newly cut pine or fir tree into their cabin. Candles brought the merriment of a tradition. The twinkle of the soft yellow light within the dark cabin created an inner happiness for those who gazed on the glow.

Years passed and despite the invention of the electric lights by Thomas Edison, candles were still used for the personal effect it offered. The candle presented an excitement, happiness, and love that only the charm of it's soft glow could express. Candles will always be used where ever there are households whose host will touch the lighted match to a wick.

Thank you all for another great year, our third! Here's hoping that the new year will be a great one for us all!

Happy holidays to one and all!

From your merry elves,

Jack and Marge